No Rest For The Wicked
by ImmyRose
Summary: "These districts think they have the Games all figured out now, that all they need to win is a little bit of skill and foresight. And it's our job to show them that the way to victory isn't as transparent as they think." - The Hunger Games's Tenth Anniversary.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

_Five months before the 10th Hunger Games_

**Colette Brancheau, 11**  
**Capitol Resident**

An inch above the rest of the flowers, a single white rose lies, petals fully unfurled.

It doesn't look so pretty when I cut through the stem and toss the flower into my basket. It's meant to replace the dying flowers on the mantlepiece, but the thought of allowing something so imperfect into my home repulses me.

Usually, I wouldn't even be bothering with something as belittling as manual work, but Mother had specifically insisted that I find the best flowers for her, and it isn't as if she can trust the Avoxes to do a decent job at that. I'm glad that today isn't particularly sunny, otherwise I might start sweating, and that's just disgusting.

My eyes rake along the rest of the bushes that surround the house, scanning for any more plants that dare to peek above the rest of the shrubbery. Why do plants have to be so annoying and keep growing back? Why can't they just stay the same?

I'm already aware of the fact that messing around with the way things should be is a bad, bad thing. Change led to the districts feeling entitled to more than the Capitol had already given them. Change led to the uprising that had taken Father away from me.

If I have any say in how things go, life is always going to remain the way it is now. And seeing something as simple as these flowers try and defy that makes me want to tear out the bushes at the roots. It's only the unseemly nature of such an act that prevents me from doing so.

"Colette, have you finished yet?"

"Yes, Mother." Knowing already that Mother would request for my presence, I proceed back through the front door and into the living room with measured steps, careful to adjust myself to look the way she would want me to. I'm lucky in the sense that she's distracted with something on television, giving me precious time to push down my shoulders, lift up my head and straighten my back accordingly.

Mother deigns to give a cursory glance at me. "That's fine. Be a dear and put it in the vase, please."

I look down at the rose as I walk over, scrunching up my nose as I get a whiff of its scent. It's fine, it's _fine_. I went to all that effort and that amounts to a meagre 'fine'. It's not exceptional, not amazing, not wonderful. All I get is a filler word that means nothing.

Fine.

I dare to scowl as I hear someone on the television scream. "I didn't know you were interested in those Games."

"There's going to be an announcement soon on this channel," she replies shortly and I nod, chastened. I should have known that Mother has better sense than to find the Hunger Games entertaining like all of the lesser people do.

"I can't believe people actually like watching this," I say. "It's really predictable, how pretty much everyone dies."

"They are still a novelty," Mother says. "Despite its many flaws as a television programme, even I have to admit they provide something different from the numerous romances and other reality shows around."

_Too many romances? Only Mother would say that_. "Yeah, but everyone knows that the Games are only there so the districts don't forget that they have it easy compared to what we could have done. Why they're only complaining now that two kids are dying is beyond me. It's not like people don't ever die or anything."

Mother doesn't say anything, probably pleased that I'm showing signs of incisiveness that is unheard of at my age. Nobody else that I've been around has ever raised that point before as to why the districts' whinging is hypocritical, so clearly Mother is impressed. "And they're actually doing better. I've heard more women and children are signing up for work now. Clearly that's a good sign for equality! And they get paid with food now. That just saves them the effort of having to buy it in the first place, doesn't it? I know I hate shopping; those shops are always moving their stock around just so I have to spend more time looking for - "

I can see Mother's hand moving to motion me to be quiet; an action I've come to recognise over the whole ten years of my life I've been around, and I'm quick to stop talking as the scene on the television changes. Nobody has yet to reward me for being so perceptive, but I'm sure Mother will come to appreciate this action with time.

On-screen, the President smiles as he waves at the sheep-like crowd, who all predictably scream in delight at this generic gesture. It never fails to shock me how some people can be so unambitious that the simplest of things can tide them over. Do they really think that the President would notice them if they _all_ act like the districts do? Pathetic.

Grabbing a steaming mug of hot chocolate, I take a seat in one of the regal blue chairs that lean against the walls. Although it's made of velvet, that does nothing to make it any more comfortable and I shuffle awkwardly. That - of all things - is enough to earn myself a disapproving look from Mother.

"Today is an important one," the President announces once the lemmings below him have finally quietened down. "Exactly ten years ago, the districts surrendered and we entered a new era of peace. And in order to celebrate those ten years of peace and prosperity, this year's Games will have a special twist to them."

I don't bat so much as an eyelid at this, preferring to pop more marshmallows into my drink. Mother had always told me that politicians like to use 'rhetoric' like that in order to distract everyone else from important stuff. Judging by the incessant screeching sounds the crowd's making now, it seems to be working on them. I can imagine similar reactions all across the Capitol. That's how shallow and easily-amused everyone is.

_Everyone except for you, Colette_, Mother would say. I'm more insightful than they are. It isn't like the lower classes give me any reason to think otherwise. Everyone else just goes with what's popular, not what's actually relevant.

"They will serve as a reminder of the true purpose behind the creation of these Games."

"Rightfully so," Mother says. "Those middle-class residents seem to think it's cause for celebration, just like they do with everything else these days."

"Surely we can celebrate the fact that we won?" I don't dare to look at Mother. Although we almost always agree with each other, since we're one of the few intelligent people in the Capitol, that doesn't make it any easier to deal with the few things we have differing views on. In fact, Mother thinks it's worse.

She gives me one of her weird smiles, the ones where only her lips move and her eyes don't change at all. "They only see these Games as another excuse to lose their inhibitions. The Games used to be about justice. Now they've been demoted to a mere holiday!"

"I think you make a valid point there." I choose my words carefully, knowing that not acknowledging what she had said is rude. "However, you don't think that people can relax from time to time?"

"Not if it involves losing your dignity in the process, Colette." Mother sniffs. "Indulging in such behaviour is the very reason why district inhabitants can never be classed as anything better than animals. Being human is having the ability to control and rise above our instincts. Feeling entitled to having a 'break' from rising above our natures is unacceptable. It's something the districts would do." She sighs. "You would think that witnessing the districts' barbarism for themselves would have made everyone else aware of this, but no matter." My eyes widen as Mother rises from her chair and strolls over to me, resting one perfectly-manicured hand on my shoulder. "As long as we Brancheaus are aware of the threat the districts pose on our culture, we will always be better than them."

I smile at her, all the while feeling doubt fester away at the confidence that Mother's words would have otherwise given me. Just how much of the districts' culture is seeping into our own? Is the violence we see on television tainting the Capitol itself?

With a slight shake of my head, I swat away these childish worries with the same ease as a horse would swat away a fly. If Mother's not worried, then there's no point in me feeling apprehensive. The Games are just a distraction, just something that panders to the lowest common denominator of citizens here. Once this year's Games have ended, the inappropriate behaviour will soon go away. People around here are easily influenced by fads anyway; they'll get bored of acting like peasants sooner or later.

If they really had any class to begin with, they wouldn't stoop to such behaviour in the first place, but that's the reason I'm better than them. I don't need any cheap reassurances - I'm not a baby needing her mummy to coddle her!

Why would I need anything to distract me when my life is already the envy of every other child in the Capitol?

As long as my life's perfect, then nothing needs to ever change. That's what Mother would say.

* * *

**Hello all. This time, I'm actually writing a halfway legitimate SYOT.**

**As I don't think the concept of having special Games every twenty-five years would have been in place after ten Games, there will be a slight twist added to this year's arena (although it's not as extreme as a Quell would be). This SYOT may deviate from canon at times, seeing as it's an earlier Games.**

**Form and guidelines are on my profile. I only accept forms via PM, but other than that, feel free to submit. I will be accepting one character per submitter.**

**The submission system is basically first-come-first-serve. Regardless of wherever I have accepted/ rejected your tribute or asked for some changes, I will PM you as soon as possible. If you have any queries, you are welcome to PM me as well.**


	2. Your Own Worst Enemy

**Pre-Reapings Part 1**

**Abilene Vittori, 18**  
**District 1 Female**

"Look, Adelaide! I did it!"

Adelaide is quick to stop her stretching exercises. "Did what?"

"Why, only mastered the fine art of gymnastics!" I jump up and down on the spot as I say this. Positioning myself at the end of the mattress, I run forward and propel myself over one of the benches, before kicking my legs out as I start to cartwheel across the room. The moment I move off the mattress, I hold up my arms in the official ending position, resisting the temptation to make a more appealing-looking pose with my body. "See?"

Adelaide smiles, but I interrupt her. "And - wait for it - I can do even more than that!" Crouching to the floor, I roll over backwards, leaning to the side so that I end up in a position adjacent to Adelaide.

"Aren't you meant to roll in like, a straight line?"

"Nonsense!" I exclaim. How can Adelaide - my best friend - not realise the true extent of my cunning? "That's what everyone else does. See, I'm actually like, totally unique and do things differently. That's why I'm so going to ace next week's contest! Why do people just copy the moves that we're taught here? You're meant to put your own spin on them, honestly. You know those gym rings people swing around in circles in? That's so overdone - I'm definitely going to stand out by swinging from side to side."

"Good luck with beating Genevieve."

I scrunch up my face. "You're comparing me, Abilene Vittori, to Genevieve? All she does is copy Cordelia. Not that I don't like Cordelia, but Genevieve acts like such a wannabe around her. She could do so much better if she wasn't so unoriginal. Let's face it, she can stand to learn a thing or two from me. She's not even prettier than me, not that many people can live up to the standards I set there."

"Don't let her hear you say that," Adelaide warns. "You know how tight those two are."

For a moment, I almost let those words sink in, but the silence lingering between me and Adelaide quickly becomes too oppressive for me to stand. "She doesn't even condition her hair! Like, who in their right mind doesn't use conditioner?"

"Who doesn't do what?" Reyna, one of the few girls in District One whose family is anywhere near the same league as mine, chips in. The massive grin on her face tells me that she's already planning out some overly elaborate plan to smear whoever I'm talking about. Someone like Reyna just doesn't understand that being straightforward is always a better plan. Why would you worry about lying and manipulating other people when you can clearly communicate your ideas to them instead?

It's absolutely stunning how many problems could be solved earlier if both parties had just been honest with each other. Good thing that I'm altruistic and willing to impart this advice onto others.

I open my mouth, ready to correct Reyna and tell her that I'm talking about Genevieve, but Adelaide beats me to it. "You know that loser that fell out with Cordelia a while back?" My eyes widen at how much, well, meaner Adelaide sounds now that Reyna's around. "Abilene saw her the other day; her hair is so ugly now that we're not giving her fashion tips."

"Why am I not surprised? I always needed to give her a helping hand back before she lost her damn mind." Reyna rolls her eyes. "She so did not deserve my expertise."

"I can't even remember her name anymore," I finally join in, earning some laughter.

"Who cares? She's old news now and she knows it." Reyna smirks before her eyes focus on me. "Abi, is that a grey hair I can see?"

I inhale sharply. "What, where? Why does this always happen to me?" Behind me, the entire wall is taken up by a giant mirror and I rush over there, frantically combing through my hair. I'm at gymnastics as well; the worst place to become sloppy with appearances. "Did you see it? Which part of my hair did you find it?"

Reyna, having no sense of urgency, takes her time sauntering over. Unlike me, her hair is as flawless as ever. She's grinning for reasons that are beyond me until she opens her mouth. "How many times have you fallen for that now, Abi? You're just like my _mother_. She's always bitching about grey hairs, not that she doesn't have a point. She's almost sixty, can you believe it?"

Shuddering, Reyna wonders off, presumably to find the rest of our group. For a moment, I can't help but stare in admiration at how confident she is without anyone else around.

I wish I could be like that.

I blink at that thought. What am I on, to think that she actually has something that I don't? Reyna should be the one envying me, not the other way around. Her family is nowhere near as renowned as mine and she always overthinks things with those weird, complicated plots of hers. She doesn't even train.

Okay, it's not like I'd ever risk chipping a nail or going for a week without a shower by actually volunteering, but my aim with a crossbow is still considerable and compared to the rest of the ditzy pretty girls in this district, it makes me stand out even more than I already do. I bet I can hit bullseye every time if I want to, but why would I let something like training take priority over gymnastics and horse-riding? No amount of weaponry can ever beat the thrill of taming and riding Charis.

Charis doesn't feel the need to point out flaws that aren't really there. She doesn't care about the fact that I still have a little bit of puppy fat around my stomach; something that is clear to see through the skin-tight outfit I'm wearing.

As I see Adelaide approach me, I cross my arms gently and slouch slightly, like I see people do when they're trying to look casual. "You okay?"

"Sure, just fixing my hair." At this, one hand moves to fluff up my hair a bit. "Think I should dye it dark brown? I heard that really brings out blue eyes."

"Abilene," she replies gently. "You do realise that you're way too young for grey hairs, right? You don't need to do anything."

I toss my hair over my shoulder, plastering on another smile. "Exceptional things happen to exceptional people, I'll have you know." My eyes stray as I notice a younger girl who's trying - and failing - to fix her appearance. She can't be any older than eleven, not that she's the youngest here. In fact, me and my group are the oldest by far.

"You're doing that wrong," I say, walking over once I'm confident that Adelaide's following me. Giving her the once-over, I frown at her hair. "You look like you've just been electrocuted. Ever heard of a brush?"

The girl doesn't have the decency of even pretending to be embarrassed at the shock of red...frizz that is her hair. "Ever considered concentrating on improving your gymnastics and worry about appearances once you're finished?"

"That's not the attitude you'd ought to have towards your looks," I reprimand her. "It takes work to look this good. I know it seems hard, but it's possible for you too, dear. There's this lovely little shop just down the road from where the Victor's Village is, opposite some tacky tattoo parlour, actually. I know they have some lovely perfumes that you're in dire need of."

The redhead sighs, apparently seeing it fit to ignore my advice. "Okay, whatever floats your boat. I don't care _that_ much if you remain in the beginners' class."

"You should. We're setting an example for you to follow," I say before she's finished her sentence, feeling pleased with this brilliant response. "Why don't you sit down and let the competent ones talk now?"

Much to her credit, she manages to turn around and walk off with dignity. It's remarkably impressive for someone that I've never seen walking around my part of town. Then again, she should be proud; she had just received some advice from me that she can use, after all.

"Nice one," I turn around to see that Reyna's back with the rest of our group. She's no longer looking self-assured, hiding behind Cordelia along with Genevieve and Solange. This time, I don't need Adelaide nudging me to not comment on this.

That won't be me; I'm so much smarter than to interfere with Cordelia's delusion that she's the most influential, prettiest girl here. If my presence isn't enough to convince her of that, then there's not much else to be said anyway. "She needs the advice, seriously. And who's better qualified to give it than us?"

"We're way too good for this place," Solange says, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Does anyone here even know what deodorant is?"

"There's no point in worrying about what they do, just as long as we do it better," Cordelia deigns to say. "Like you said, Abilene, we should be setting an example for them." I see Genevieve dare to give me a smile, safe in the knowledge that Cordelia approves. I allow myself to bask in the obvious signs of approval that Cordelia has awarded me.

Reyna's the first to move onto less important matters. "Hey, I think yoga class starts soon. Are we heading on down or what?"

"Well of course!" I squeal. "Today's already been so exhausting. I really need some time to clear my head."

My hand automatically goes to fluff up my hair, making sure it looks stylishly disheveled instead of just a mess. I find myself walking faster towards the yoga room than the others, wanting the excuse to sit down and relax for a bit. It'll be nice to relieve myself of the responsibilities that come with being me.

It'll be nice not to think about the fact that if I'm really so perfect, then why do I have these flaws that Reyna and that other girl pointed out in the first place.

_You're just having a rare moment of weakness, that's all_, I assure myself. Being as clever, witty and attractive as you are is bound to have some downsides. There's nothing I can't handle; I'm responsible enough to accept the burden of coming from such a prestigious family.

I'm already the star of the show around here. With my group around, there's nothing I can't do.

* * *

**Clarisse Pallion, 16**  
**District 10 Female**

The moment I see the sunlight glint off the newest bracelet in the shop window, all of my other thoughts seem to fly out of the door.

It's perfect; a gold band with elaborate patterns adorned over it. What more do I need to prove to Elliott that I'm fitting to be his queen, or to show off to every citizen walking by that I'm elite? Of course, I'm already aware of what I am, but if I'm not careful, people won't realise that.

I turn to one of the boys next to me, but I have to hesitate for a moment in order to remember his name. At least, I think he's a boy. Coming from the orphanage, his hair's close-cut and the square jaw gives him a boyish look. Then again, girls from the lowest areas don't have the self-respect to look regal by keeping their hair long. "Marth, you think that bracelet's fancy?"

"I think it would look nice on you." He jumps at this opportunity, knowing what I'm about to ask. It's always preferred when I don't have to train my followers.

I ignore his praise. What use is paying attention to something you already know you have? Only the unambitious would stoop to such a level. "Good. You'll be a doll and help me get something like that, won't you?"

He nods, following right behind me as we enter the shop. The shop keeper, recognising me as a regular 'customer', gives me a smile as I stride over to the counter. "You got anything new, sir?"

In response, he reaches down and retrieves a large box. As he opens it, my mouth drops and my eyes wonder around, my awe only growing with each sterling silver necklace or the glint of the occasional gemstone that this shop can afford to include. One that catches my attention has the most adorable silver leaf charms hanging from a thin silver chain.

I can't refrain from fanning myself. Just mere inches from me is a ticket to being the most sought-after girl in town. If I had that necklace, people would be so much more willing to respect me than if I wear the drab, worn clothing that my parents insist on handing down to me.

It's no surprise that they feel like they can treat me that way, as if I'm some sort of servant that has to lower herself to manual work. They're never around long enough for me to teach them otherwise. In fact, it's a stretch to think of the last time I had even seen them long enough to say hello.

All that really matters is that they're both out there making money for me. That's what parents are meant to do.

"These look just wonderful, sir! I know my Ma would love this silver necklace!" I drop down my hands as I stare off into the distance, as if suddenly overwhelmed by reality. "I just know that I'll won't be able to afford it in time. Her birthday's next week, you see, and I've already spent most of my money on food for the orphanage."

_That's right. It's not because that necklace costs more than your parents' daily wage or anything._

I push this thought out of my head. Who cares about that when I have such an foolproof alibi, one that's further strengthened by the presence of an orphan.

Luckily, the shopkeeper's eyes soften and I can tell I've won. This feeling disappears when all he does is take off the price tag for the necklace.

But...that means that the rest of the jewellery won't be mine. That means he'll sell it to someone else that's less deserving of it than I am. How is that fair?

"Well, with all the Capitol visitors coming in these past few weeks, I'm sure the shop can manage to reward you this time for your hard work, Clarisse," he's talking, spouting a bunch of meaningless words that won't reward me with the jewellery I want. "We need more girls like you."

"Thanks so much," I say, barely managing to swallow my bitterness, before realising how informal that sounds. "I'm sorry, I'm just imagining how she's going to react when she sees this."

Grinning, I barely remember to nod at the shopkeeper as I turn to leave. Despite not getting the box, this is still yet another massive success for me! Due to my cunning, I've saved an absolute fortune and I still look like the upper caste of District Ten.

Most of the people who live around here would never guess that I fought my way to be this esteemed from a...a middle-class family who think dressing like mongrels is the way to present themselves.

Nobody should care about where I really originate from. Everyone should know that the second generation is always superior to the first, so why would it be any surprise that the daughter of some working class parents is destined to be put on a pedestal and worshipped?

It's only another testimony to how superior I am that none of my connections among the richer families have caught onto the fact that I'm not as wealthy as them.

Caught up in my thoughts, I almost run into the next customer as the door opens. Placing my hands on my hips, I'm about to chew out the person who dares to put themselves before me before I recognise the sparkling green eyes, adorably boyish looks and cutting dress style of him.

"Elliott! Fancy seeing you here!" I grin, moving close enough to him that he has to back out of the shop. "I haven't seen you in ages!"

Well, when I say that, I mean I haven't actually talked to him, but who needs to do that when you can admire him babysit his sister over the weekends when his parents are away or when he plays his favourite sport - cricket - every Thursday in the park?

"Oh, Clarisse." He makes a move to get around me, but I sidestep so that he has to look at me. "Look, not to be rude - "

"You could never manage that," I assure him, beaming at him if that's what it takes for Elliott to realise that he'd be perfect by my side. He's rich, intelligent and charming - just like me. What more evidence does he need?

" - but I'm seriously running short of time today." This I can already tell is a lie. After spending time with his sister in the mornings, he's always been a fan of sitting in the chair next to the window with a book to read.

"I can escort you back home."

"That's really not needed."

Why is he turning me down at every opportunity? My voice is strained when I respond. "It's fine, really. We can talk on the way there."

"Look, Clarisse." Elliott shuffles awkwardly. "I hate to be blunt, I really do, but I don't actually want you to come."

"What?" I dare him to repeat what he's just said, narrowing my eyes. The final straw happens when Elliott actually flinches a little. He actually moves _away_ from me.

"You ungrateful moron!" All attempts at composure disappear in the wind as I advance on him. "I'm taking the time to help you out and you don't even have the respect to appreciate that!?"

His eyes turn cold, which only adds fuel to the fire. I only imagine whacking that look out of his eyes for a second, but that's all the time I need to act on the desire as I slap him across the face. "If I offer to help you, you're in no position to refuse, mongrel."

Although Elliott slinks away, this does nothing to reassure me of my rightful place. If he's really defeated, then he'd willingly surrender to my demands, not run away from them.

I suppose that even a prince like him can't truly live up to what I deserve.

"Are you okay?" The whiny voice of one of my assistants asks. "We were really worried for you when he got mad - "

"Worried?" I snarl, turning on them. "Worrying is for peasants. It does nothing but waste time. My parents already know I'm special, that I don't need coddling like some fucking baby. They can be way more productive by, you know, earning money for me. That's what you should be doing for me."

"But what do we get out of it?" My eyes rake over Jena, wondering if her cat's died today or something. She wouldn't ever question me otherwise, not unless something's gone drastically wrong with the world's rightful order.

"It makes you look better to be seen with someone as stylish as me," I reply slowly, making deliberate eye contact with her until she looks away. "If you're seen with someone that looks as rich as I am, that automatically makes all of you look better, yes?"

As they nod again, I smile. What they're not good enough to realise is that that when people see me - a fashionista - even sparing a second glance at these orphans, it makes me look so much more charitable than I am. First impressions are absolutely everything, especially when I can slip in a lie about how I help out those peasants.

It's an amazing little cycle that I've taken full advantage of. I'm basically the queen of this part of District Ten, even if most people prefer to retain some semblance of dignity by not admitting to this. "Come on then. Now that it's sunny, it's the perfect time for you three to look cute for the passing families out for a stroll, no?"

Head high, I lead the way as I was born to. As I continue to walk, however, I notice a single thread that seems to have come loose from the hem of my trousers, taunting me with every step I take about how it'll continue to tear away at my appearance, my status, until I'll be threadbare.

Indifferent to the children that bump into me as I stop abruptly, I try and yank it out, but all I achieve with that is making the area around the stray thread wrinkled. Tugging at the hem of my trousers does nothing to straighten it out.

I scowl. Now these jeans resemble those hideous dungarees that those farmers wear. The bug-ridden, filthy, _poor_ farmers.

Poor.

I am the complete opposite of that word. I refuse to be associated with such a term.

I am a queen. Being a queen and being...poor simply do not go together in the same sentence.

Clicking my fingers, I smile as the three of them crowd around me at my beck and call, desperate for some approval so that they don't go home starving tonight. "You three, I think a skirt would be more fitting. I hope you all know where I can find one."

But it's not the enthusiastic chorus of ideas that I care for. It's the dismissive eyes of Elliott Tievan that's burned into my memory, clear of any devotion towards me.

No matter what, I'm not letting someone who refuses to pay attention to me continue to be that way. I'll make him respect me.

After that, he'll only be another conquest, only another obstacle that stands in the path to make _everyone_ respect me.

* * *

**Daelyn Adair, 17**  
**District 4 Female**

"Hey. Catch this!"

My newest boyfriend, Daryl, doesn't react in time to catch the inflatable ball and I laugh as it bounces off his head. "Dibs on getting it first."

Knowing this would set off his competitive streak, I dive forwards, focusing on nothing but streaming through the sun-warmed water and the roaring of the wind rushing past me as I reach out for it. For a second, it's like I'm part of the waves, rising up and crashing into the water with flair.

I'm snapped out of this daydream as Daryl effortlessly bounces the ball away. "Nice try, 'Lyn. Give in and I'll let you have it back."

"You're only saying that because you can't think of another way of beating me," I tease. "Try holding your breath underwater for longer than me, then I'll be impressed."

"Bring it." Holding up three fingers, he puts them down one by one until we both sink under the waves.

If it isn't for the fact that breathing is impossible down here, then I might appreciate this alien world a little more. Shoals of fish dart across the ocean floor, nothing but streaks of silver against a murky blue canvas, while anemones stroke the water around them. There's the occasional flash of a clownfish taking shelter in their tentacles and sand being disturbed as predator gives chase to the prey, slowly but surely changing the landscape.

Everything always looks so different every time I go down here. It's so quiet as well, with nothing but the rushing of water in my ears to derail my train of thought. Down here, with none of my thoughts threatening to burst out of me and feeling like I can defy gravity...it's one of the few times that I feel like I don't have to pretend. It's like the water is passing straight through me, like I'm actually a part of the ocean.

Like I actually belong somewhere.

The increasing pressure in my chest pops this illusion, forcing me to retire to the surface. Daryl has already resurfaced when I appear. "I think I still have water in my ears."

I just shrug this off. "It's okay, that can't kill you. And look on the flip side; it's a good reminder that I'm better at you in everything else." I stick out my tongue at him. "I'm more attractive, energetic, my name's better - "

"Like you actually chose your name," he points out sceptically, picking up the ball and taking his turn to bounce it off my head. "Clever girl."

The sarcastic, slightly mocking tone makes my smile falter. "Well, you don't think I'm stupid, right?"

"No, of course not," Daryl immediately defends himself. "It's just that, well, sometimes you say the dumbest things."

He throws the ball at me before I have time to ponder this, but his words quickly become irrelevant as I rise up to this novelty by whacking the ball away. "Try and keep it up in the air like a hot potato. Don't drop it!"

Almost immediately once we begin this game, however, I realise how much I've disliked having to actually pay attention for so long just so I can hit a ball. Something akin to dread fills me at how dull listening to the thud of the ball over and over again would become. Like an elastic band, I can feel my concentration stretch itself to its limits until my arms flop down like my strings have just been cut. The ball splashes next to me, showering me in a sprinkling of crystalline raindrops. Suddenly, my mind seems devoid of any thought, all of my hopes and dreams shattered into nothing, just like the way I would feel when I'd shelter inside on a rainy day, watching the raindrops run down the window glass and imagining them racing against each other because that's all I could think of doing.

"I'm dead bored."

Daryl responds by splashing at me, but the glamour of the water sparkling in the sunshine has already worn off. "How about now?"

This runs off my resolve like water running down my roof during the rainy season. It doesn't matter that I'm swimming under a bright blue sky with the sun shining down on me; the perfect weather. There's only so much I can get out of bobbing up and down with the sea until the pattern becomes too predictable. "Nah, think I've reached the end of the line for today."

"Really, Daelyn?" Daryl asks. "We've been here for fifteen minutes and you've already had enough?" He laughs. "You're so demanding. At this rate, we're gonna run out of things to do."

_You're so demanding_. I bite my lip, trying not to let the words sting, but it's too late as I feel my mood drop. Demanding's not a good quality. People don't like demanding. "In District Four? You clearly don't know where to look."

He smirks. "I'd be happy for you to show me later."

"Sure!" Just as long as I'm not too pushy with him, then Daryl will forgive me for being too demanding earlier on, right?

_You know he didn't mean it like that_.

I shake this off. What's wrong with some control? I just want Daryl to like me. That's the truly important thing to consider here.

So why do I still feel empty when he wraps his arms around me and helps me swim back to shore? Why do the sweet nothings he whispers in my ears brush against me like sand, not having any impact beyond the surface?

Daryl wraps a towel around me, occasionally sending sparks firing through my nervous system every time his hands make contact with my skin. I remember when I first met Daryl just a few weeks ago, how he had made me feel like I was floating every time he gave me one of his mischievous smiles, as if I was special to him.

"Oi, Daryl. Get in there!" Someone shouts, causing my heart to skip a beat as my head snaps up. I'm sure my expression must be one of surprise as the small group of boys smirk.

"Nice catch. I'd hit that."

"Hey you, gonna show us what's under that towel?"

"Rate her from one to ten - how good is she in bed?"

The confidence radiating off them makes unease creep into my heart. It's not the first time they've done this, I know it isn't.

And they know Daryl. Is this part of some game he likes to play?

What if he's only pretending to put up with me until he gets me in bed? The awkward conversations, the aggressive teasing...he might not like me at all.

I find myself edging away from him, not bothering to dry myself as I thrust the towel back into his chest and earning myself a couple of wolf whistles in the process. "I - I have to go soon. M-Mum's expecting me."

"Aw, look who isn't getting lucky today," another boy taunts, the words jabbing at me like knives. He's ridiculing me. It doesn't matter that I'm with one of his friends or that I'm not alone; it isn't saving me from these remarks.

But...people are meant to like me. I thought -

"Daelyn, they're just kidding - "

I don't give him time to finish as I start sprinting away from Daryl and his friends and the memories that are like a slap to the face for me.

Anything to get away from that feeling of being singled out for mockery, being nothing but a toy for Daryl to aggressively poke fun at.

It doesn't matter what their intentions are. What matters is that I don't ever want to feel like that again. And I know that if I ever see Daryl again, the events of today are going to be the only thing on my mind.

If it means that I'll never have to feel the way I do now again, I think I'd almost prefer it if I never see him again. People have good memories and I've already screwed up any chance of making Daryl respect me. Why would I want to keep being reminded of that?

"You look lost in thought. You okay, Daelyn?"

"Ada!" I'm more than happy to shove my problems to the side as I see my best friend walking towards me. "And Ingrid! How did you find her?"

"She was pacing outside your front door," Ada says, smiling at this memory. It disappears the moment she makes eye contact with me. Years around each other's company have made us attuned to our feelings. "What happened? Is it Daryl?"

I nod, feeling the dam I've been shoving all of my feelings behind break as the words tumble out. "Daryl's friends were teasing me right in front of him and I screwed up and ran away and - and I can't face him again now. I can't deal with the mess I've made. He's never going to respect me now; I'm just a...a laughing stock for him and his friends." My hands are frantically gesturing to her so vigorously at this stage that I almost hit her by the end of my tirade.

"We all make mistakes," Ada cuts in with devastating calm. "Daryl should understand that. Nobody's perfect themselves and if he can't accept you for your flaws, then he's an asshole who's not worth the effort."

The thought of having someone walking around with ill thoughts towards me is enough for my heart to start thudding in my chest. "But we're dating, or were dating. I don't know. He has gotten to know me, hasn't he?"

"Not in the couple weeks that you've known each other," Ada says, shrugging. "I'd wait a while, let the situation settle down a bit before you apologise. If he can't accept that, then fuck him. There's plenty of other fish in the sea."

Starting over afresh; that's an idea that sounds more comfortable to me. Getting to know someone new, enjoying the high of a new romance with someone who doesn't know me enough to realise how little it takes for me to screw up. Better than facing Daryl and being slapped in the face with another reminder of how I can't fix situations for long.

Maybe it _is_ a good thing that the whole conflict with Daryl happened when it did. Maybe I've just dodged another bullet. "Sounds like a plan."

"Good." Ingrid starts to shift in Ada's grip, causing her to smile as she passes her over. "Looks like she's missing you."

I stroke her ear, allowing my fingers to stroke Ingrid's grey fur and smoothing it out. "Ingrid's hungry, that's all. Could we kill two birds with one stone and go fishing? I know I'd like the money for a new necklace."

As Ada gives her agreement, I resist the urge to skip along. Although I've gotten off to a bad start, maybe I can still find the light at the end of the tunnel. I get the perfect excuse to look for someone - anyone - new that might be the one to understand me and I might still be able to stay friends with Daryl. If I'm really as capable of making people like me as Ada tells me I am, then he'll understand, right?

All I have to do is sort out the mess with him first. That's all I have to do, that's nothing that extreme. Anyone else can manage it, so why shouldn't I? I'll just try and remember Ada's advice; stay away for a bit and give him some time to get over it before I come back.

After all, there's nothing wrong with a little caution if it means I can save face. All I want is to stop another person from distancing themselves from me.

* * *

**If you haven't checked out my profile already, submissions are closed and the blog is up. I've included the profiles of the other tributes, since I'm not having submitted tributes _only_ allying with each other. As a side note, each tribute submitted gets four POVs before the Games so you get to know them better before they die early (if they do, of course). Not every tribute's getting a pre-Reapings POV; four will get Reaping POVs to progress through the story a little quicker, but we'll see everyone once before the Capitol.**

_**Based on first impressions from the blog (and from this chapter), which tributes are your favourites and why?**_


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